


The Measure of a Year

by MundaneChampagne



Series: Promise me a Happy Ending [1]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Adversaries to Friends, Disordered Eating, Drug Use, Gen, Headcanon Autistic Character, Nihlus is a little prick, Spectre training, Two awkward Spectres and their awkward friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first year of Nihlus Kryik's Spectre training. It's a work in progress for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Winter

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, finishing all my Mass Effect works-in-progress before November! This is a short piece, and will update sporadically.
> 
> In regards to my headcanon of Saren being autistic: I am not autistic. I do my research, but I am human and can fuck things up. If I fucked something up, please let me know!

"I need a favor." The Councilor's voice came through clearly over Saren's terminal.

Saren sighed and leaned back in his chair. "What?"

He would do Sparatus the favor, they both knew that. It was an unwritten agreement between them that they would help each other out, have each other's backs. Saren just wanted to know what he was in for.

Sparatus's favors usually involved a lot of work and trouble on his end.

"I have a kid here."

Saren sat up, squinting. This sounded dodgy already.

"I need you to take him as an apprentice."

Saren sat back, crossing his arms. Sparatus had crossed a line.

"Absolutely not."

"Saren, please."

"No."

"Just hear me out."

He owed the Councilor that much, Saren supposed. He sighed. "Fine."

"It's in the best interests of everyone. He's been bounced from unit to unit ever since he entered the service. Nobody wants him. He's headstrong and insubordinate. He doesn't get along with people."

"You're not doing a good job making your case, Ianius," Saren said. "Why should I take on an apprentice who would be better suited to some menial task on some backwater planet?"

"Because he reminds me of you."

"You're joking." Saren's tone was icy.

"He's brilliant, Saren. He makes up his own plans and they're usually more effective than what his commander ordered. He hones in on enemy weakness, and uses it. He refuses to quit even when a situation seems hopeless. He is, in short, an ideal candidate for the Spectres. I just need someone to take him on."

"Why me?"

"Like I said, he reminds me of you. He's only nineteen. I seem to recall having this angry, confused kid on my doorstep at one point. And now—how long has it been? Ten years?—that kid is the very best agent the Council has. This one has the same potential you did. And I can't think of anyone more suited to hone it."

Saren sighed and uncrossed his arms, instead biting on the talons on one hand. He would do it. Oh it wouldn't be fun, and he fully expected that Sparatus's candidate would not last a week. But he would do it.

"You owe me, Ianius. You owe me big for this."

"Anything," the Councilor said, relief in his tones. Saren paused—had Sparatus actually thought he was going to refuse? If so, then the man didn't know Saren half as well as he thought he did.

"So what's the kid's name?"

"Nihlus Kryik."

 

"Spectre Arterius, you are cleared for docking."

"Acknowledged." Saren brushed the controls and his small ship delicately wove in and out of Citadel traffic, like a fish swimming upstream.

Sparatus was waiting for him at the Tower docking bay. He looked as distinguished as always, his white colony markings standing out against his dark plates and suit. His green eyes lingered uncomfortably on Saren, who tried to ignore him.

Instead, Saren took in the sight of the turian standing next to him.

_Nihlus Kryik_. Saren had gotten the boy's file sent to him before he arrived. By all respects, the file was just as bad as Sparatus had promised. The positive qualities he claimed the boy had were yet to be displayed.

And getting a look at the kid, it was hard to see anything positive.

Kryik was small and scrawny, his dark plates dull. _Underfed for quite some time, by the look of it,_ Saren mused. His white colony markings stood out on his face, similar visually to Sparatus's, but very different to a Hierarchy turian. Taetrus. A backwater colony that was still recovering from their civil war a decade ago. Poverty and violence abounded, and most people saw Taetrans as nothing but terrorists, given the colony's reputation as a haven for separatist groups.

Kryik's attitude was also on full display. His bright green eyes were glaring at Saren, moving over him, making his own assessment of the man who was going to be his mentor. He didn't salute, or stand at attention. Technically, Saren did not receive those courtesies, but most people faced with a Council Spectre were nothing but overly polite.

"Ah, yes." Sparatus cleared his throat. Saren's eyes snapped back to him. "Nihlus Kryik, this is Saren Arterius. He has agreed to train you for consideration in the Spectres. I'm _sure,"_ and there was a warning in his voice, meant for both of them, "that you will get along just fine."

 

_I doubt it,_ Nihlus Kryik thought. _He looks like the worst kind of hardass commander. This has got to be some sort of joke. This guy gets rid of me in a week, then the Hierarchy has an excuse to put me to work scrubbing floors._

"Well," the Councilor said, "I will leave you to it, Saren. Take some time. I'll call you if any assignments come up." He turned and left, leaving the two turians standing at the dock, still staring at each other.

"Do you have everything?" Saren asked.

Nihlus glanced down at a small duffle bag, containing everything he owned. "Yes," he said.

The Spectre nodded and turned around. "Good. You'll be living with me on my ship. You should get acquainted."

Nihlus hoisted the duffle bag onto his back and followed the Spectre.

The ship was tiny. The airlock was across from a ladder that went to a lower level. The cockpit didn't have any windows, just computer displays. The kitchen was even more cramped, with a small ledge that could be folded against the wall serving as a table. If the kitchen was tiny, the bathroom was even more so.

At least he had a space to himself. It had obviously been some sort of armory, which the Spectre had kitted out with a small cot and desk. Guns, mods, and cases of ammo were stacked everywhere, leaving little room to maneuver. Nihlus dropped his bag onto the cot, and returned to the kitchen space.

"My office and my room are off limits," Saren said. "Downstairs is a cargo area, along with mats for training. I expect you to train every day. And," he trailed his eyes up and down Nihlus's body, "to eat what I make. You're too scrawny.

"No alcohol, drugs, or any friends or partners on the ship," the Spectre continued. "You're welcome to use the kitchen if you want to make something, but make sure it gets labeled when you're done. I will not be having with any waste on this ship."

Nihlus shrugged. "Sounds fine." _No drugs or alcohol…bet he has his own stash of booze in that office. Shouldn't be hard to find._

Saren's eyes narrowed, but he didn't comment on the sullen response. "Dinner is at 1800 tonight. I will see you then. Do not interrupt me unless it's an emergency."

And with that he vanished into his office.

The smells of cooking reached Nihlus's nose a few hours later. He'd been shifting around boxes in his room, trying to find a little more space. It was hard. The Spectre was meticulously organized, and Nihlus was finding that he couldn't really improve on it. He glanced at the time on his omnitool. 1800.

Saren was standing at the stove when he emerged from his room. Seeing the infamous Spectre doing something as domestic as cooking was weird. The little table was set up, and Nihlus plopped down in one of the chairs, sprawling out and taking up as much space as he could. This whole damn ship was making him feel too closed in.

Saren dished out whatever-the-hell it was without a word, and set a plate down in front of Nihlus.

It was yellow. Nihlus tried a bite, unfamiliar flavors in his mouth, not in a pleasant way. "What _is_ this?" he muttered.

Saren's gaze fixed on him. It was the first time Nihlus noticed the color of the Spectre's eyes—silver, with a strange reflective quality. They weren't quite right, somehow. "It's a summer Palaveni dish," Saren said. "Eat."

Later, Nihlus lay on his cot in the dark, resenting the situation. His stomach was uncomfortably full; Saren hadn't let him go until he'd finished the plate. He hadn't quite believed it when he'd been shipped to the Citadel and been greeted by the fucking _Councilor_ , of all people. And then to put a cap of bullshit on everything, the Councilor had told him that he would be training with a Spectre. Nihlus hadn't quite believed any of it until he'd been standing in front of the man and the Councilor calmly introduced the weird-looking turian as the infamous Spectre.

And to top it all off, the renowned agent who was the veteran of countless operations, with a reputation for efficient brutality, seemed to be a real stick in the mud. His rules were ridiculous, the kind of thing that bootcamp sergeants tried to scare you with. Nihlus was sure that Saren resented being stuck with an ass like him, but if so, the Spectre had shown no sign of it.

Whatever. There was no way this little arrangement would last.

 

In his first week, Nihlus hacked the office door open. There was no hidden stash of liquor, to his disappointment. Neither were there any drugs or porn. _Does the man have any vices?_ Nihlus found himself wondering.

Other than food. The Spectre was biotic, and therefore ate like a starving varren. Saren made three meals a day which he insisted Nihlus sit for, but he was constantly eating in between meals as well. It was kind of gross.

Nihlus resented being forced to eat. He felt heavy and full all the time, it was disgusting, and on several occasions, he considered vomiting everything away. The only thing that stopped him was his own disgust for wasting food, having grown up never having enough of it. Hunger for him was a old companion, but Saren seemed determined to exorcise it.

He was gaining weight, he noticed. He went through Saren's training regimens every day, and found that pull-ups were becoming harder.

To distract himself, he would watch Saren.

In addition to the normal fitness stuff, Saren would also exercise his biotics. That first morning, Nihlus stopped what he was doing and watched with slack mandibles as Saren used his biotics to lift crates across the room. He would reach out a hand, illuminating the cargo bay with a blue glow, and the crates moved as if gliding. Saren would stack them in precise towers, only his hands moving. And then, he would lunge forward and knock the tower down in a biotic burst that scared Nihlus the first time he saw it. Crates flew all over the empty cargo bay, and Saren waited for a moment, his breathing still even, and then repeated the exercise again.

Nihlus had never encountered a biotic in real life. Watching this…the precise control, and then the wild violence that were both possible, amazed him. After the second day, he entertained for a little while the thought of what it would be like to be a biotic. And then he quickly dismissed it because having biotics would've made his life even more miserable than it was.

“We’re shipping out tonight,” Saren told him after a week had passed. “Take the day, pick up anything you need. We’ll be gone several months, so make sure you’re prepared.”

Nihlus looked down. “I don’t have any money.”

“The Council should have given you a small stipend,” Saren said.

It was true. Nihlus swallowed down a grin at the thought of his living on the Council’s credit. Cushy, this whole Spectre thing.

Too bad they were leaving that night. Nihlus would’ve liked nothing more than to get drunk and find someone for company. A week with the uptight and unyielding Spectre was slowly driving him crazy. He was itching to get out and do something, anything, other than train, eat, and stew in his new situation.

  
Stewing on the ship in dock was the same as stewing in the ship in space, Nihlus quickly figured out. Not much fun. Their first destination seemed like it might hold promise, however.

"Omega?" Nihlus had asked. "What does the Council want you to do on Omega?"

"Nothing," Saren said. "I make a habit of picking up Terminus intel from Aria."

"Oh." Not quite the exciting first mission Nihlus had pictured. He was fine with lazing around, but surely the whole point to being a Spectre was engaging in high risk missions against the worst the galaxy had to offer? A prospect that appealed to him, to be honest. He loved the high of a good battlefield. Nihlus knew that his previous commanders hadn't thought much of him. He wanted to impress the Spectre. Show Saren what he could really _do._

Omega was loud, smelly, and hideous. The buildings were like spikes growing out of the hulking asteroid, and everything was surrounded in a fog of red light. Nihlus was instantly comfortable with the seedy atmosphere; it was like some of slums back on Taetrus.

Omega's ruler ruled from a nightclub, apparently. Then Nihlus got a look at her. _Of course she rules from a nightclub_ , he amended. The asari dominated the room like some sort of state building.

Unfortunately, that was the only impression he got from her. "I'll be some time," Saren said. "You're free to wander, but use your head and stay out of trouble. Omega is not kind to newcomers."

If Saren was going to abandon him as soon as he was in his meeting, what was the fucking point of him leaving the ship at all? Nihlus flopped onto a barstool in a huff. And then he realized that Saren had only ordered that there be no alcohol on the _ship_. He could get as drunk as he liked as long as he didn't take it back.

He ordered a shot, and watched the hours tick away.

At some point, Saren and Aria left the spot overlooking the club and moved into one of the back rooms. _Maybe he's fucking her_ , Nihlus mused, and then was pissed because he was just rotting here while his alleged mentor fucked some important asari.

He was pretty drunk by the time a barefaced man sat next to him. "You've been looking cross. Want some company, maybe cheer you up a little?" The stranger was young, with nice russet plates and a smooth voice.

"Definitely," Nihlus said. "What's your name?"

"Preitor," the man introduced himself. "I work for Aria. Sometimes. When she needs the services of a two-bit merc like me." Preitor's voice had an easy humor; he wasn't bitter, just poking fun at himself.

"Well, allow me to buy you a drink," Nihlus said, a smile flickering across his face. _If Council money helps me get laid, then all is forgiven._

 They stumbled out of the club a little later. "Your place or mine?" Preitor asked.

"Yours." If he stayed away long enough, Nihlus figured he could easily skip a meal. Dodge Saren's freaky stare over the kitchen table. Not spend the night feeling sick.

"Right-o." They wandered away from the pulsing heart of Omega, down filthy back alleys, and—

"Wait a minute." Even through the alcohol, something was making Nihlus uneasy. He quickly swung around, catching the sight of a salarian, who startled and ducked behind a dumpster.

Nihlus strode over and caught the salarian by the scruff of his neck. He hauled the unfortunate man to his feet. "Who are you and why have you been following us?" He pulled a small pistol out of his jacket. Not much power, but it didn't take much power to execute a salarian at close range.

The salarian swallowed, his throat bobbing against the barrel of the gun. "Look, I'm not out to hurt anyone. I just have to follow you and report back."

"Report to who?" Nihlus leaned in closer, allowing his breath to hit the salarian's face.

The wide amphibian eyes flickered. "That turian who was with you. Big guy. Wearing a black hood?"

"Saren," Nihlus muttered, and let the salarian go. "Why does he want me followed?"

"Look, I don't know. He just wanted a report of your movements. Hey, I'll leave you alone—can I go now?"

"Sure. And tell Saren that his _apprentice_ isn't as stupid as he looks."

The salarian scampered off. Nihlus stuffed the gun back in his jacket. Preitor's eyes were wide. "You're Saren Arterius's apprentice?"

"In name only," Nihlus muttered. "He doesn't seem too interested in teaching me a damn thing."

"Wow. I would kill for a gig like that."

"Well, don't kill me." Nihlus grinned. "I did buy you drinks, after all."

His good mood was tempered by the idea of Saren setting a tail on him. And when they arrived at Preitor's tiny apartment, he pinned Preitor against the wall and fucked all his frustration away.

Later, they lay on the bed together. "Can I stay a while?" Nihlus asked, looking at the ceiling. "I don't feel like dealing with Saren so soon."

"Yeah. No problem."

Nihlus eventually made his way back to the ship, hoping against all hope that Saren would still be out. It was unlikely. It was late in the night, and Saren adhered to his routines.

Indeed. Saren was in the kitchen, bent over working on a datapad. He didn't even look up when Nihlus entered. Something about that uncaring demeanor made Nihlus snap. "You set a tail on me! What the fuck, Saren?"

Saren looked up, his facial expression unchanged. "Yes."

The ambivalent attitude only made Nihlus angrier. "What, you don't trust me or something? Think I need supervision like a stupid kid? Your tail sucked by the way, he barely made any effort to stay out of sight."

Saren stood then, looming over Nihlus. "As a Spectre, you can never let your guard down. You need to get used to that fact. You can't just go through life without a care. Not anymore."

That shut Nihlus up, his mandibles left hanging open. That was…a test? Saren was actually trying to teach him something?

"You didn't do badly," Saren said. "You caught him less than ten minutes after you left Afterlife. In the future, I expect you to be vigilant at all times."

"I—you know what? Never mind." Nihlus turned around and made to head to his room, but Saren called after him—

"There's leftovers in the fridge if you want to heat something up."

And Nihlus would be damned if he ate any more of Saren's cooking. "I don't want any of that Palaveni shit!" he screamed, and shut the door to his room behind him.

 

The next morning, Saren was waiting for him. "I have a task for you," he said, leaning against the bulkhead of the ship.

"Ok." What did Saren have planned?

"I need you to find out the name of Aria's daughter for me," Saren said. "You may use any method you wish, but don't cause any disturbances. I do not want to have to answer to the Council over a training exercise."

He held out a credit chit. "You have fifty credits to spend as you see fit. I will be waiting in Afterlife at 1300 hours today for your results."

"Uh, ok," Nihlus said. "Do you have any suggestions on where to start?"

Saren narrowed his eyes. "Do not presume that I will offer you any help."

"Yeah, but on a real mission, I'd get a briefing beforehand," Nihlus argued. "I'd have some idea on how to go about it."

Saren nodded. "Very well. Afterlife would be a prudent—and safe—place to start. However, most of Aria's people are very loyal to her, and would not readily give out that information. If they even possess it."

With that, he headed for the airlock. "You have about three hours. And I will be watching the whole time to see how you handle this."

"Ok," Nihlus said to empty air. He tossed the credit chit up and caught it. "Let's see how this goes."

He started in Afterlife, as Saren had advised. He bought a drink (some might say it was too early to be drinking, but in Nihlus's opinion, there was no such thing) and asked the bartender which dancers had been around the longest. He was pointed to an asari who was lithely bending around one of the poles. Nihlus tipped the bartender a few extra credits, then slid up to the edge of the stage.

"Looking good!" he called, catching the dancer's eye. After she finished her set, she sashayed up to Nihlus, who grinned and gave her a slow once-over.

She led him to a couch and tossed her head in a sexy flip, parting his legs so she could stand between them for her dance.

Nihlus grinned, wondering if Saren was watching and what he was thinking if he was. He bent his head close to the asari's. "I could use a favor, love," he murmured.

"Private session?" she asked, running a hand down his chest while gyrating her hips. "I can do that."

"Don't have the credits today, unfortunately," he said. "No, I just need some information. I'm working on an investigation, my intel wasn't complete—what's Aria's daughter's name, again?"

She straddled his lap and sat. "You understand that we don't make a habit of giving out info about the boss, you understand."

"Oh completely," he said, throwing in a purr for good measure. "I don't want to get you in trouble, after all. In that case, could you direct me to someone who could tell me?"

The asari stood and swooped around behind him. "Patriarch," she whispered. "The old krogan Aria keeps around. He'll probably want a favor from you, he likes the attention." She moved her hands to his thighs. "That's all I can do for you, I'm sorry."

"Not at all," Nihlus said. "You've been very helpful. As well as a fantastic dancer." He paid for the dance, tipping her for her trouble. Time to find this krogan.

Patriarch was moseying around the lower levels of Afterlife. He was ancient—easily the oldest krogan out of the few Nihlus had ever seen. He turned around as Nihlus entered the room. "Well hello," he said in a wavering voice. "Have you come looking for advice on how to become a merc?"

"Do you get a lot of young men asking for tips?" Nihlus said, widening his eyes. "You must be very skilled."

"Oh yes," Patriarch said. He launched into a long-winded explanation of how he'd found himself working as a merc at a young age. Nihlus listened for a few minutes, a fake smile plastered on his face. When the krogan took a breath, Nihlus interrupted.

"Actually, I could use your help. I'm scouting out intel for a job my boss is arranging—would you happen to know the name of Aria's daughter?"

The krogan stood for a few minutes. And then he broke into a grin. "I can help you, young man—but only if you help me."

It turned out to be a simple task to track down and threaten a red sand dealer who'd been harassing Patriarch over some debts. Nihlus stuck a gun to the batarian's head, made a few threats, knocked him in the chest when he refused to cooperate, and snagged a bag of the sand when the dealer scampered off. He returned to Afterlife with a swagger in his step, and handed Patriarch the bag. "As an extra favor."

And that was how he ended up snorting red sand in the back of Afterlife with an antiquated krogan. "Liselle," Patriarch said when he finally remembered what Nihlus had been asking. "The daughter's name is Liselle."

"Exxxcceeelllent," Nihlus said happily. He tipped over slightly as he stood and glanced at his omnitool. 1230. Just in time to meet Saren.

He moseyed back to the main floor of Afterlife, trailing biotic sparks off his skin as he went.

Saren was waiting at the bar. He stood when he saw Nihlus. "We'll speak on the ship," he said. "Come."

On the ship, Nihlus leaned against the wall in the kitchen, a little unsteady on his feet. "Well?" Saren said. "Did you complete the task?"

"Liselle," Nihlus said, lingering on the name. He giggled suddenly. "And I didn't start any wars to get it."

Saren's face was unreadable. "You accomplished the task before the deadline. How many credits are left on that chit I gave you?"

"I think ten," Nihlus said, mentally adding up the cost of drinks and the dance. "Ten? Yeah. Ten."

Saren nodded. "And you finished within the resources given to you. Very well done."

"Thankkkksssss." Nihlus grinned massively, and tossed the credit chit in the air again. This time, he missed catching it.

A different look crossed Saren's face. Nihlus wasn't sure what it was. "Go lie down," he said. "You are still high. I should warn you that allowing yourself to become incapacitated on a mission is a poor choice, but in your current state, I don't think it would get through your head."

"I can too," Nihlus grumbled. "I mean—think. I can think."

"I highly doubt that," said Saren. "Red sand is a good way to destroy one's brain. And using sand from an unknown dealer, and with a krogan, which can become highly unpredictable when drugged, and in public—do you have any self respect?"

"Not really, no," Nihlus snapped. He'd done everything Saren wanted. Why was the Spectre criticizing him so harshly?

Saren squinted. "Was that sarcasm?"

When his former COs had asked him that question, it was always with the implication that they knew the answer and were just giving Nihlus enough rope to hang himself with. But Saren—he seemed legitimately confused. Nihlus grumbled to himself. What was wrong with this guy? He dodged the question. "Going." He spun around and whacked his fringe against the wall. "Going to lie down." And with that, he staggered into his room and collapsed.

 

They spent the next few weeks docked at Omega, and Nihlus's training began in earnest. Whereas before he'd been complaining about boredom, now, he would give anything to have a break.

Saren handed him a datapad containing a multitude of texts. "I have included a schedule for your readings," he said. "Make sure to do them. I will know if you do not."

At first, Saren tried to quiz him on things before he was allowed to eat. The Spectre quickly figured out that Nihlus wasn't motivated by food, and then switched to quizzing him before he was allowed to exercise, or leave the ship. Nihlus's head would be spinning every night when he went to sleep.

He was schooled on mathematics, galactic history, culture of what seemed to be every species in existence, etiquette, weaponry, technology, and spirits know what else. It seemed to Nihlus that he was learning everything possible _except_ Spectre'ing. Saren still hadn't taken him on any missions.

Oh sure, by day he would be drilled at a firing range, given complicated routes through Omega to navigate within a certain time, and asked to study historical wars and battles, but it didn't really _lead_ anywhere. He felt exhausted, but still restless. Nihlus just wanted to _do_ something. Something _real_.

One afternoon, he snapped. Saren had been asking after proper manners for dining with a turian general. "I don't see the point of being polite if the food tastes like shit," Nihlus replied.

There was a moment of silence. It was obviously a dig over Saren's cooking. Saren tilted his head. "Maybe I should revise the question," he said. "Say you're dining with the Primarch of Taetrus. Now, tell me, who is expected to sit at the table first?"

"Doesn't matter because the bomb goes off before they can sit down," Nihlus snapped.

Saren narrowed his eyes. Nihlus met his glare, and gave as good as he got. Saren pulled back after a few seconds. "I would expect better than terrorist jokes from someone who is actually Taetran and understands how harmful those stereotypes can be."

Nihlus snorted. "Like you've never made a Cabal joke in your life."

Saren sat back in his chair. "You don't like my food or my teaching methods, fine. But I will not tolerate such displays of insubordination."

"So toss me out the airlock," Nihlus said. "It'll save you a lot of trouble down the line."

Saren tossed him a credit chit instead. Nihlus caught it on reflex, then did a double take. "What's this for?"

"The remnants of your funds from that first exercise. Ten credits, I believe it was?" Saren's mandibles twitched in what might've been a dry smile. "You're in charge of dinner tonight. You have ten credits, and I expect to see food on the table at exactly 2000 hours."

Nihlus suppressed a grin. Ten credits might not be much, but if Saren was trying to show him up by giving him a difficult task, well—he'd show the Spectre. Ten credits? He was Taetran. He'd grown up poor as shit. He could cobble together something edible for half that amount. Saren would be eating his words—and Nihlus's cooking—soon enough.

Soon enough, he had a pot boiling away on the stove. He'd dumped a bunch of leftover grains in it, along with a few sad tubers he'd found in an Omega market. Going through Saren's spice cabinet had proved fruitful. There was a jar of powder that he opened and when he got a whiff, nearly threw it across the room in disgust. "What the fuck _is_ this?" he called to Saren.

Saren glanced at the jar in his hand. "Murrya leaves. It's a common spice on Palaven—"

Nihlus shoved the jar back in the depths of the cupboard. So that was the flavor that had been bothering him for weeks. "It tastes like it was scraped off the floor in Afterlife," he said.

Saren didn't answer, and withdrew back into the office.

When dinner was finished and he dished it out to Saren, the Spectre looked puzzled. "What do you call this dish?" he asked.

"Slop," Nihlus said cheerfully.

"I don't—slop?"

"Yeah. At least that's what we called it." Nihlus shrugged and tucked into his own bowl of the stuff. "Oh, by the way, I only spent three credits," he added, handing the chit back and stuffing a large spoonful into his mouth.

"You've given me twice as much as you."

Nihlus put on his innocent face. "Well, you are a biotic. I simply don't eat as much as you do. So? What do you think?"

"It's…edible."

But Nihlus noticed that Saren later went for seconds. It was a victory. He'd gotten Saren to try Taetran slum cuisine, and like it. Nihlus went to sleep that night having completely forgotten about his earlier irritation.

 

His training continued through the weeks. They left Omega and floated around Terminus, checking in at multiple stops. Never any missions, just Saren picking up intel from various contacts. The tension between Nihlus and his mentor evened out a little bit; it was a small thing, but Saren stopped using that awful spice. Neither of them said anything about it.

His plates still itched. He took to running several miles a day on the treadmill in the cargo bay, longing to break up the routine, wanting something exciting to come his way.

 

Saren sat in his office, the Councilor on the com line. "He's doing better than I thought he would," Saren admitted.

Sparatus chuckled. "Of course he is. I do have some experience in finding potential, Saren. In case you've forgotten."

"His flaws are as numerous as you mentioned," Saren shot back.

"And yet here we are, approaching the two month mark with him in your care. Do you think he's ready to shadow you on a mission?"

"Ianius, I think he would go rogue if we waited any longer."

"Of course, of course." Sparatus paused. "You've done well," he said. "I really do appreciate this."

"Just remember that favor you owe me."

"How could you let me forget?" Sparatus asked dryly. "You know, sometimes I wonder if your loyalty to me is born of devotion or guilt."

"I would ask you the same thing."

"Indeed. Well, look out for mission data heading your way. The usual Terminus hijinks, I'd imagine. And Saren? Do try not to get the boy killed."


	2. Spring

"This human group Cerberus is becoming more and more of a concern," Sparatus said.

Saren, leaning back in his chair and chewing on the talons on his hand, couldn't agree more.

"Ever since we've put a name to this organization, I've had people reinvestigating black ops activity in the past. Hundreds of incidents have been linked to them. And this one is only the latest."

"I'll get it done." Saren sat up.

"Good. And, Saren? Do you what you have to do. I have no issues with a body count when Cerberus is involved." The com link shut off.

 

"We have a mission."

Nihlus sat up, his heart pounding. Finally. He'd been waiting for this for months, ever since he'd accepted the possibility that he might actually be a Spectre.

This was his chance to prove himself.

"The human terrorist organization Cerberus has captured a scientific research station in the Terminus. We're to board the station and retrieve all the research data. I also have orders to do what we need to in order to recapture the station."

"Excellent." Nihlus grinned, already planning what weapons he wanted.

"Listen to me, Kryik. Cerberus is not to be trifled with. They're fanatics, and highly dangerous. They will not give any quarter. And they hate turians. You will listen to and obey my orders, do you understand? If you must question me, you can do so after the mission is over."

"Yeah, ok." Nihlus brushed away Saren's words. "So, when do we start?"

 

"Scans show dozens of human lifeforms," Saren said, pointing to a readout on a terminal in the cockpit. Nihlus squirmed in the seat next to him. "No other species. None of the researchers stationed here were human. They must have all been killed by Cerberus."

"That's way too many," Nihlus said. "We can't go for a frontal assault, even I'm not that stupid."

Saren shot him a glance before turning back to the display. "They will be alerted when we dock. There's no way around that. The ship will be locked down." His talon trailed over the monitor, eventually landing on a ground plan. "We'll split up. I think you can handle it. I take this corridor, you take this one. Meet back up here—"—a lab antechamber—"—plant shock mines to keep anyone from coming up behind us, and storm the lab."

"And how do we get back out?"

"We blast a hole through the wall."

"You're shitting me."

Saren turned to him and glared. "This ship has VI autopilot. It will meet us on the other side. There's no reason to leave this station intact, and there's no reason to spare a single Cerberus bastard."

It was the first time Saren had ever sworn in front of him. Nihlus shrugged, but internally, he was cringing. There had to be a better way to do this. He'd heard about Saren being extremely brutal, but it wasn't the brutality here that bothered him. There had to be a simpler way to accomplish this task.

When Nihlus opened his mouth to say so, Saren held up a hand. "After the mission," he said.

Nihlus shut his mouth.

 

It was the first time he'd worn armor in months. It felt good. Even better was the weight of the weapons on his back. Saren had a nice armory, Nihlus had to admit. Assault rifle, pistol, and he snuck a few grenades from a crate as well. Real ones, not shock ones. He'd take his chances with the explosions.

He rolled his head and cracked his neck. Showtime.

Saren's armor was surprisingly light. Kept him more mobile for biotic attacks, Nihlus figured. He had a rifle and a small pistol strapped to his back. Nihlus would've been very curious to see Saren in an actual fight, but Saren's plan would keep them out of sight of each other for most of the op. They'd be linked only by helmet coms.

And then they docked and opened the airlock and were met by Cerberus.

Gunfire filled the air. Nihlus could only glance over at Saren between shots, taking in the Spectre's cold concentration. He pulled Cerberus troops into the air with nothing but a flick of his fingers then shot them as they flailed.

A bullet embedded itself into the wall next to Nihlus and he turned his attention back to the fight.

Soon enough, the welcoming party was cleared out. Nihlus did a quick count of the dead as he and Saren diverged, making for their assigned routes.

Twelve. Twelve troops for just a welcoming party. There were more in the station. Many more.

Too many.

And as Nihlus passed by an electronics panel on the wall, a thought occurred to him. Maybe Saren enjoyed shooting his way out of situations like this. But Nihlus wasn't in the mood to drag things out. Maybe he could improvise.

He stopped and ripped the over off the panel. He quickly pulled up his omnitool—a shit old model, but customized to the hilt—and within a minute, he was skimming through the system controls.

Hacking had always been fun for him. Simple enough to break the shitty locks used in the slums, much more fun to tamper with city infrastructure. Screw with delivery schedules. It was an easy way for a slum kid to keep himself entertained, and Nihlus knew all the tricks.

Quickly enough, he found something interesting. It was an easy enough task to alter the parameters a bit, then he pulled up the final command to execute his program.

"Hey Saren," he said through the com. "Don't panic, but I've got an idea."

And he triggered the alarm.

 

The siren shot through his brain like lightning. "Station self-destruct triggered. Two minutes to detonation. Immediate evacuation recommended." Flashes of light burst in front of his eyes and Saren screamed, first in wordless pain, then a "FUCK!" for good measure.

Through the pain, he could hear the pounding of boots rushing his way.

What had the idiot boy done?

 

Nihlus grinned and snickered to himself. Simple enough to send a false alarm. The self-destruct sequence was safely disabled, only the alert playing over the station loudspeakers.

Cerberus didn't know that.

And neither did Saren. Nihlus winced as his mentor screamed into the com, then swore. The second time in a day he'd heard Saren use foul language. Had to be some kind of record for the Spectre.

Nihlus ducked into a dark corner as the Cerberus personnel rushed past him in their haste to escape.

And they were gone.

He removed himself from his hiding place and strolled down the hallway. "Hey Saren," he said nonchalantly into the com. "It's a fake. No need to worry. They'll evacuate, then this station will be ours."

The only response from the com was a staticky sound, then pops of gunfire. Nihlus paused a second. Had Saren gotten himself into trouble somehow? Whatever it was, it was probably fine. The Spectre could handle himself.

Nihlus nipped down the corridor, finding the station pleasantly deserted. The data they needed to retrieve was downloaded to his omnitool in a heartbeat.

There was a silence through the com, then a groan.

Nihlus paused, halfway out the lab. Was that Saren?

Fuck. If his mentor was in trouble, then it was his fault. Nihlus should probably go make sure that wasn't the case.

 

He found his mentor leaning up against a wall, dead Cerberus troops piled around his feet, clutching his left arm.

"Saren?"

Saren's eyes flickered open. "What the _fuck_ , Kryik?" And then he collapsed.

Nihlus darted forward and caught him, hauling him upright. Spirits, Saren was _heavy_. And dead weight, too. "Come on," he muttered. "Try to stand." He threw Saren's arm over his shoulder, wrapped his arms around the man's waist, and hauled him down the corridor.

It seemed to take forever. Nihlus had to drop Saren for a moment to open the airlock for their ship. He pulled Saren aboard and dropped him in the pilot's seat. He shut the airlock and turned back to Saren. "What was that all about?" he asked.

Saren pulled his hand away from his arm. He was bleeding, a neat bullet hole torn through the armor. His breathing was harsh.

"Just that?" Nihlus asked.

Saren nodded once.

"Haven't you been shot before?" Nihlus asked incredulously. "It doesn't look that bad."

Saren glared at him. "They…coated their bullets," he rasped. "Tore right through my armor. There's something nasty in there too. This doesn't feel like any other bullet wound I've had." He shook his head. "I don't want to take any chances. We have to get back to the Citadel. And I have to tell the Council that we failed the mission." He slowly swung around to the navigation console.

"We didn't fail," Nihlus said. He held up his arm. "I got everything right here. Wiped the computers before I left too."

Saren turned and gazed at him, then nodded slowly. "I…am going to go clean this up," he said. He put the ship into autopilot mode, then stood, wobbling slightly, and vanished into the bathroom.

Nihlus just stared at the door behind him. He'd expected to feel triumph right about now. But there was nothing.

 

They were three days out from the nearest relay, even at FTL speeds. Saren retreated to his room, a makeshift bandage wrapped around his arm.

The hours ticked by. Nihlus kept replaying the whole thing in his head, trying to make sense of events. He glanced at the time. It was late. Saren never missed a meal.

He got up and pounded on Saren's door. "Do you want food or anything?" he called.

There was a pause. "No."

Nihlus shrugged and returned to his brooding.

Neither of them ate that night. It disturbed Nihlus that hunger wasn't quite as comfortable for him as it used to be.

 

He heard an awful sound coming from the bathroom.

Nihlus hesitated, then opened the door. Saren stood over the sink and retched again, his whole body shaking, but nothing came up. His talons clenched the sides of the sink. Then without warning, he wrenched to the side and hit his head on the wall, once, twice, again.

"Saren! What the fuck?" He grabbed his mentor and pulled the man across the hallway, fighting Saren's flailing limbs. He somehow got Saren down on his bed and quickly pulled the blankets (shit, that was a lot of blankets) across Saren, wrapping the Spectre in a little cocoon so he couldn't hurt himself any further.

Saren's head whipped from side to side, and blood trickled from his mouth. Nihlus winced. He'd bitten his own tongue. He quickly nipped back to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, which he stuffed in Saren's mouth for him to bite down on. A trick he'd learned with his little brother, for when the kid had got bitey.

It seemed to work. Saren lay still after a moment, but continued to twitch. Nihlus watched him, helpless. He must be in pain, Nihlus figured. Too much pain, to try and hurt himself like that to distract himself from it. He bent down and pulled a first aid kit out from under Saren's bed, and quickly rummaged through it. He found a painkiller and pulled off the cap, injecting it into Saren's neck.

Nihlus finally sat back as Saren calmed, and slipped into something resembling catatonia. What the fuck was this? From one gunshot? Nihlus reached forward and carefully extracted Saren's left arm from underneath the blankets. He pulled away the bandage, and was hit by an awful smell.

It was like the flesh underneath was rotting. Nihlus wrinkled his nose. Infection? He didn't know much first aid. All he could find was an antiseptic spray, and he emptied it onto the wound. He wrapped Saren's arm in a fresh bandage. Nothing now but to wait. They'd hit the relay in another thirty hours, and then Saren would be able to get real medical treatment.

A thought occurred to Nihlus. Most autopilots couldn't deal with the complex programming needed to execute a relay jump. If he left it to the ship, they'd probably miss the Citadel by lightyears.

Fuck.

There was nothing he could do right now. All he could hope was that Saren was ok by the time they hit the relay, and that he'd be able to take the ship through.

Nihlus sat back and sighed, rubbing his hands across his face. His stomach growled, and he ignored it.

To distract himself, he glanced around the room.

He'd never been in Saren's bedroom before. He'd hacked the office open, sure, but he was slightly afraid of what the Spectre might do to him if he found Nihlus going through his room.

The room was bare. There wasn't much indication of the personality of its occupant. There was a poster listing firearm specs above the desk. No other personal touches, no photos.

There was some small case on the desk. Nihlus stood up and took a look. A medal. An eight-pointed star, in silver. Despite his limited knowledge of the Hierarchy, Nihlus recognized it immediately. The Star of Palaven, the highest honor that the Hierarchy could give.

He wondered what Saren had done to be awarded it.

And there was a folded paper under the medal's case. Nihlus carefully slid it out from under the case, and unfolded it.

"REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT—"

No. Nihlus put it back. The standard letter informing someone that a loved one had died. He wasn't going to snoop that deeply into Saren's life.

Instead he turned, glancing once more at Saren. The man's breathing had evened out. Nihlus figured it was ok to leave him for now.

 

It didn't get better. The next time Nihlus checked on him, Saren had a fever, tossing and turning under all those blankets.

Nihlus left a bottle of water beside the bed, and went and poked the nav computers. Less than twenty hours to the relay.

 

Saren woke a few hours later. He didn't look much better, but at least he was lucid, Nihlus figured.

Saren just gave him a look when Nihlus brought up the whole relay issue. "You really need me to navigate a relay for you?"

"You think my COs ever let me near the controls of a ship?" Nihlus snapped. "I don't know a thing about flying these things."

Saren sighed. "Very well."

 

But he fell asleep again for the relay, and Nihlus couldn't wake him up.

The relay loomed large on the monitor, the rings spinning rapidly. Nihlus quickly figured out how to turn the ship's VI on, and instructed it to feed him guidance.

His hands shook at the controls, and he squeezed his eyes shut when they actually made the jump.

And opened them in relief, because the Citadel was _right there_ , and they'd made it.

"Citadel Traffic Control to _SPECTRE 512_ , come in _512_."

Fuck. Nihlus had forgotten that he'd actually have to dock the thing.

He found the com button, and opened a line. "Look I'm Saren's apprentice and he's hurt and needs medical attention and I don't know how to fly this fucking thing—"

The person on the other line was patient, and walked him through the docking procedures. When the ship shuddered as the docking clamps attached, Nihlus dropped the controls, leaned back, and let out a sigh.

There was a whole medical complement waiting at the airlock. Nihlus could only stand helplessly by as they rolled Saren out on a gurney. The turian and asari Councilors were there as well, and Nihlus watched as the turian Councilor fell into step beside the paramedics, bending down over Saren's prone form.

The asari Councilor lingered, and came up next to Nihlus. "We haven't been formally introduced," she said, holding out a hand. "I'm Tevos."

Nihlus shook her hand, but gazed after the ambulance as it pulled away into Citadel traffic.

"He'll get the very best medical treatment, I wouldn't worry," Tevos said.

"Do you guys always personally meet a Spectre when they get back?" Nihlus asked. Just standing there and talking to a Councilor weirded him out enough. He couldn't imagine always being greeted by one of the most powerful people in the galaxy.

She sighed, and Nihlus turned back to look at her. Her expression was very far away. "Not always. This is…a special case. Sparatus is very close with Saren. Ostensibly, Saren works for all of us, but Arall and I know that he really belongs to Sparatus."

"Huh." Nihlus couldn't really imagine his mentor being close with anybody.

 

They gave him a lift to the hospital, where he sat in the waiting room for several hours.

A doctor finally came out. "He's out of surgery. The bullet contained radioactive material, and there was a great deal of cellular damage. We had to amputate his arm."

Nihlus's mandibles went slack in shock.

"He's sleeping now, and will need some time to recover. I'd recommend getting some sleep yourself," the doctor said, not unkindly.

Fuck. Saren had lost his arm. And all because Nihlus had been an idiot.

He couldn't face going back to the ship. Instead, he wandered, eventually finding a shitty hotel. He booked a room, collapsed into the bed, and slept for a long time.

 

A call on his omnitool woke him. Nihlus groggily answered. "Hello?"

"Saren is awake. He's asking to see you."

Fuck. Nihlus dragged himself out of the bed. He'd fallen asleep in his clothes, and hadn't bothered to bring a change. He probably looked as bad as he felt.

And no doubt he was going to be chewed out by Saren for being stupid, stupid, reckless, disregarding orders and making the whole situation worse and crippling his mentor into the bargain. Nihlus couldn't even bring himself to try and straighten out the wrinkles in his clothing.

He hauled himself to the hospital, not in any kind of hurry. Maybe this was it. His last moments as a Spectre candidate. Had any other candidate in history screwed up as badly as he had? And on his first mission?

Fuck. It wasn't like Nihlus had come into this whole thing really expecting to be made a Spectre, but at some point the idea had taken hold in his head and really started to appeal to him. He'd believed that he had a chance, a chance to do something interesting and not just be useless and unwanted his whole life. Now that his opportunity was in jeopardy, he realized how much he'd really wanted it.

Oh well. Too late now. He'd just accept whatever Saren had to say, he'd collect his stuff—he wouldn't go back to Taetrus, couldn't go back and say that he'd had the opportunity of a lifetime and had blown it—no. Maybe Omega. Be a merc. Whatever. There was no way he'd be content with scrubbing floors.

He lingered outside the door to Saren's room. Through the window, he could see Sparatus sitting at Saren's bedside, speaking to him. When Saren noticed Nihlus though, he waved the Councilor away and gestured for Nihlus to come in. Nihlus ignored the Councilor as they brushed by each other.

Saren looked multitudes better than he had a day ago. He was propped up in bed, a datapad lying off to the side. Nihlus tried not to look at the space where his left arm had been.

"Nihlus."

Nihlus stood awkwardly at attention. Probably the first time in his life he'd been sincere about doing so.

"At ease," Saren said. "You did well," he said. "Your method was unorthodox, but effective. And you made sure that the goal was achieved, even though things did not go to plan. I would've preferred some warning. Even so, you did a good job."

Nihlus's mandibles went slack. He stood there, speechless.

"It will take some time to have a prosthesis made," Saren added after a moment. "In the meantime, I expect you to keep up with your training without my supervision."

After another moment where Nihlus didn't say anything, Saren nodded his head towards the door. "That is all."

Nihlus left without a backwards glance.  

 

He wandered the Citadel, all the activity blurring around him. He found himself a shit little bar, and set about getting as drunk as he could.

Fuck. Fucking _hell_. He'd been all ready to be kicked out, shown the door—instead Saren had _complimented_ him.

And he realized that this was the first time Saren had called him Nihlus.

Nihlus was not accustomed to this feeling burning up his insides. It took him a few shots until he could put a name to it. Guilt.

Another shot. Shame.

He felt awful. And he didn't know what to do about it. Except to drink until the world went fuzzy and tilted around him.

And then a cute human woman offered to take him back to her place, so he went, and didn't remember any of it until he woke up with a pounding headache in an unfamiliar bed.

And this routine seemed to help take his mind off things, so he did it again, and again, and again. Drank all his meals, then blacked out for a while. He stayed away from red sand after the first hit reminded him of Saren's biotics, and one day he woke up in an alleyway, and only remembered hours later that the asari who'd taken him home had chucked him out after he refused to meld with her. Call him a prude, but he just didn't want anybody in his head right now.

Nihlus didn't want to be in his own head right now.

He avoided the hospital too, until one day he got a message from Saren saying that they were going to ship off in five hours and that he'd better be there. Nihlus supposed they'd discharged the Spectre then. How long had it been, anyway? He hadn't been back to the ship in—weeks. Probably weeks.

His clothes reeked of alcohol. This wouldn't do. He bought a new set, changed, and threw the old ones in a dumpster as he staggered back to the private docks at the Citadel Tower.

Saren was sitting in the pilot's chair, waiting for him. He didn't turn around when he spoke. "I take it then that you haven't been keeping up with your training?"

"No," Nihlus muttered. He caught a glimpse of Saren's new arm under the man's sleeve. It was hard to tell, but it seemed sleek. Probably expensive. Perks of working for the Council.

"We're shipping out to Omega," Saren said after a moment.

"Sure," Nihlus muttered, and went back to his room and crashed in his own cot for the first time in weeks. Probably weeks.

 

It seemed that Saren kept his routine whenever he left the Citadel. First to Omega, to speak with Aria. This time, Saren had Nihlus accompany him to meet Omega's Pirate Queen.

Aria's bodyguards led them up to the little lounge that offered a commanding view of Afterlife. "Saren," Aria greeted them. "It's been a while. How are you? And I take it this is your apprentice."

Saren nodded and sat, gesturing to Nihlus to do the same. "Nice arm, by the way," Aria added.

Nihlus had no idea how she figured that, as Saren always wore long clothing that covered his whole body. He stifled a yawn, and as Saren and the asari talked, tried not to fall asleep.

Saren eventually glared at him, and muttered for him to go.

He escaped down to the bar. Considered ordering a shot, but decided he'd had enough lately. And that was also disturbing. He sipped at a beer instead, and at one point, just gave up and clunked his head down on the top of the bar.

"Hey man. You ok?"

Nihlus looked up. Preitor had slid into the seat next to him.

"No," he muttered, "I'm not."

"Do you want some company?"

"I want to get out of here."

"Not even a drink first?"

"Fuck no," Nihlus muttered. "I'll buy you something, though."

"Nah. No point in only one of us drinking." Preitor bent down, looked him in the eyes. "Come on. Let's go."

Nihlus followed him down those same winding alleyways. Saren hadn't set anyone to follow him this time, or at least not that he noticed.

When they got to Preitor's apartment, he sat Nihlus down and handed him some water. "You look like you've got the hangover of the century." Nihlus supposed that that assessment wasn't too far off. "Wanna tell me what's wrong?"

So it all came pouring out of Nihlus's mouth. How he'd fucked up and got Saren hurt and couldn't deal with it but drank himself into a deep hole instead.

At one point Preitor just sat down next to Nihlus and kept listening. When Nihlus had finished, he settled back for a few moments, his mandibles flickering. "I think," Preitor said eventually, "you gotta make it up to him somehow."

"What would you suggest?"

He shrugged. "You could put more effort into training. Follow his orders. Be the best Spectre apprentice you can be."

If it were that simple, Nihlus would rip off his own mandibles and eat them. Still, he figured, couldn't hurt to give it a try.

It was rare that Nihlus slept with the same person more than once. But, he mused afterwards, curled up in bed with Preitor, maybe it wasn't so bad.

 

Saren didn't like how his apprentice would vanish, sometimes for days at a time. But he always came back in the end. Saren didn't say anything this time, when Nihlus wandered into the cargo bay halfway through Saren's morning workout.

This new arm was troublesome. It had eezo channels laced through it so that Saren could still use his biotics, but he had to relearn everything. For the first few days, he hadn't even been able to grasp a spoon. Now, a few weeks later, his grip was better and he could mostly do everything the way he was used to.

He ran through the exercises the physical therapists had given him. Nihlus didn't say a word or even look at him, but just went to work on his own routine.

The silence was fine with Saren. It allowed him to concentrate. He flexed his synthetic fingers, letting some wisps of energy form around them, which he slowly pulled up through his arm. When the neural feedback from the prosthesis let him know that everything was charged, he held out his hand and grasped at the air.

A crate across the cargo bay slowly lifted, pulsing in blue. Saren's heart pounded as he struggled to lift it. Then without warning, there was a surge of biotic energy. The pain lanced through his arm, the crate fell, and Saren bent over, gasping for breath and putting up mental barriers against the pain.

He collapsed back onto a bench, his fingers twitching. Biotic sparks danced across his skin. Saren closed his eyes, quieted his breathing. Control. He had to maintain control. It was just like learning to work with his biotics all those years ago, except vastly more frustrating. He hadn't had to think this much about his every motion in years.

"Saren? Are you ok?"

Saren opened his eyes. Nihlus had sat down next to him, and was reaching out—

 _No, don't_ , Saren wanted to say, but the words were swept away by the pain. And as soon as Nihlus placed a hand on Saren's good arm, the biotic energy discharged and threw Nihlus across the cargo bay.

Saren caught a whiff of burning eezo, and breathed through the pain.

 

"How have you been?" Sparatus asked him.

Saren glared. "For the last time, Ianius, I am _fine._ "

They'd left Omega, and were drifting out in the galaxy. Saren was in no hurry to show his face to his contacts while he was adjusting to his new arm, and Nihlus didn't seem to mind. He'd been much quieter than usual, had largely ceased mouthing off, and was working at his studies with a new determination.

It was almost pleasant.

"I just wanted to check. I do worry, you know." Sparatus's voice was much softer than usual.

"I just need to work through the adjustment," Saren said. "I'll be fine."

"Good. And how's Kryik? Not too shocked by the realities of Spectre life, is he?"

"I don't know," Saren replied. "But he's not quitting, if that's what you mean."

"I wouldn't expect him to," Sparatus said. "Let me know when you feel up to some real work. If you think the boy can handle it."

Saren snorted. "He can handle it. I know he can."


	3. Summer

"I'm concerned about some of these mission reports."

Saren sighed. "What's wrong with them?"

"Kryik seems to misunderstand the point of the Spectres."

"Which is?"

"To get things done quietly and effectively."

"He's gotten extremely effective in accomplishing mission goals."

"Yes, Saren, but not _quietly_. He seems to create trouble wherever he goes."

"You never complained when I've blown things up."

"I've never worried that you were going to draw unnecessary attention to your operations. The way I've always seen it, you do what needs to be done. Kryik kicks it up a level. He does things that don't need to be done. You're efficient in addition to being effective."

Saren gnawed on his talons. "I think he'll figure things out. With time."

"Good. I look forward to seeing how you deal with this next one."

 

"I didn't _intend_ to go swimming," Nihlus grumbled.

Saren twitched a mandible in amusement. "Get changed," was all he said.

Nihlus rolled his eyes and stripped out of his armor. His undersuit was sodden. His limbs hurt a bit from when he'd hit the water, flailing.

He'd gotten their target. The human couldn't swim any better than Nihlus could. But a fully-armored turian could take falling three stories into a lake better than a human in casual clothing.

As Saren liked to say, Nihlus's methods were unorthodox. But they worked. 

The Nos Astra hotel room was cushy. It had an expansive view of the lake Nihlus had just dived into. Saren plopped down at the desk, his armor perfectly dry. Nihlus rolled his eyes. Saren probably hadn't even _thought_ of chasing their target off a balcony.

Still, he had to admit, their missions were going well. Saren had backed off from the whole "authoritarian CO" thing, and began including Nihlus in the planning. One thing Nihlus had learned was that Saren actually sucked at planning a mission; he tended to focus on small details that never cohered into a good plan. In the field however, those tiny details became crucial. Saren's real brilliance was in tactics, not strategy. And seeing him in action had really hammered home why Saren was considered the Council's best agent.

But Nihlus had a level of crazy and a disregard for his own wellbeing that let him do stuff that Saren would never attempt. Saren frequently tried to keep Nihlus from hurting himself in the pursuit of a goal, but it only sometimes worked.

Like today. Saren had tried to pull Nihlus back with his biotics, but Nihlus just shook it off and continued his pursuit. Nihlus shrugged. He'd survived. The human had been captured, and was being sent to the Citadel for interrogation.

There was a dead fish in his greaves. Nihlus wrinkled his nose and threw it across the room, getting it in the trash bin on the first try. Saren glanced up at the sound, and stared as Nihlus pulled off his undersuit.

Nihlus looked up. "What?"

Saren hesitated a moment, then gestured to his chest area and tilted his head.

Nihlus looked down. Oh yeah. This was probably the first time Saren had seen him without a shirt. "You mean these?" he asked, indicating the white markings that extended down his neck, swirled around his chest, matched his facial markings. He shrugged. "I had it done with a few friends when I was younger. Taetran pride, you know?" He looked up. "Or maybe you don't. Going barefaced is a Cabal thing, right?"

"It is," Saren replied, then turned back to his datapad.

Nihlus hesitated. "You _were_ Cabal, right?" he asked. "I just kinda assumed…"

"I was."

Nihlus waited. Further answers were not forthcoming. "For how long?"

Saren sighed and set the datapad down, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. "My biotics manifested when I was five. I was part of my Cabal from that point on until I was fifteen, when I requested to undergo general military training. I was very ambitious and there were not many opportunities for advancement in the Cabal."

"I guess it all worked out then? Being a Spectre and all."

There was a hesitation on Saren's part, something Nihlus didn't understand flickering across his face. "In the end, I suppose," Saren finally said.

Nihlus turned that over in his head. "Five?" he asked. "That's really young. You left your family?"

"I did." Saren sat up and looked at Nihlus. "If you expect me to answer all these questions about my life, you'll have to do the same for me someday." There was a tone to his voice that might've been playful. Nihlus wasn't sure.

Whatever. He shrugged. "Yeah ok," he said, the promise empty, certain that Saren would never actually be interested in his life.

 

That promise came back to bite him the next time they were in FTL flight.

They were sitting in the cockpit, the monitors turned on to show the external cameras. Nihlus was admiring the view. Saren seemed lost in thought. But then he sat up. "So," Saren said. "You told me you'd tell me about your life."

"I, uh." Nihlus glanced at him. "What's there to know?"

"How did you grow up?"

"I mean, I'm from Taetrus." Nihlus shrugged. "Lived in a slum. Some slums aren't so bad, but this wasn't one of those."

"Do you have a family?"

"Yeah. They kinda suck." Nihlus looked down. "My father's a drug runner. Nothing fancy, but he likes to pretend he's bigger than he is. My two older brothers are idiots. They practically worship him. Dunno how my mother ended up with him. Apparently when she was pregnant with me, he was all like, 'I don't need another kid,' and she was like, 'Too fucking bad.' Same with my younger sister, same with my littlest brother."

"So you have siblings."

"Yeah. Two older brothers. Like I said, they're idiots. I think my mother kinda gave up on them. She was pushing my sister and me to get out of the slum, do something better. She forced me into the military because of that. But, anyway, yeah. Younger sister. I don't know what she ended up doing after I left. I haven't exactly spoken to any of them in years. Little brother." Nihlus squirmed in his chair. "He died. When he was five." He didn't look up. Didn't want to see Saren's face. Didn't want to see the pity that people always wore whenever they learned about his life. "The well went bad one year. We all got sick, but I guess he was just too little to pull through."

He did look up then, wanting to see Saren pity him and maybe punch him in the face for it. But Saren's face didn't hold any pity. Saren just looked quiet, thoughtful. A weight lifted off Nihlus's shoulders, and he plunged back into his story. "Sweet kid. Kinda reminds me of you, now that I think about it. He had trouble with words sometimes, like you do. Only one of my brothers that I actually liked. I mean, maybe he wouldn't've stayed that way. I dunno."

It was like word vomit. Once he got started, he couldn't stop. "So, yeah. Slums and shit. A lotta people there have real jobs and stuff, go off to the city or do stuff at home. Not everyone is criminals. Just some people. You gotta do what you gotta do in order to eat." He paused for a moment. "I mean, mostly. You hear your parents going on and on about how expensive it is to feed five kids, and you just stop eating. I didn't mind."

He shrugged. "Life is mostly pretty quiet. As quiet as it can be when you're practically living on top of your neighbors with how close all the buildings are. A lot of people don't like the Hierarchy. I know they call us terrorists but we're not, we just wanna get by without our lives being controlled and being expected to live and die for some government that's so far away. On a planet none of us have ever seen."

He stopped talking suddenly, realizing that a Council agent was probably not the best person to be confiding this to.

"I should like to see Taetrus someday," Saren said, breaking the silence. "See where you grew up."

Nihlus snorted. "Are you kidding me? You couldn't go in there. You're Hierarchy. You speak the wrong language, you dress too nice, you work for the fucking Council."

"I couldn't go back either," he said after a moment. "My accent's gotten too posh. I'm too well fed. And if this whole training thing goes ok, I could end up working for the Council." He paused. "I'd be killed," he said eventually. "If I tried to walk into there. Never mind my colony markings say I'm one of them. I'm not, not anymore."

After a while, Saren spoke. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me all this."

"You asked," Nihlus said, and they went back to staring at the monitors in silence.

 

"How are things going?" Sparatus asked.

"Nihlus's performance in the field is exemplary…"

"But?"

"But he undervalues himself. He's willing to commit suicide on every op."

"I've noticed," Sparatus said dryly. He paused. "Maybe that's not a bad thing. Maybe we can work with that."

"Then what's the point? What's the point if he's made a Spectre and dies on his first mission?"

"Very well." Sparatus paused. "Have you tried asserting more authority?"

"It doesn't work on him. You can't scare him into line. He's not afraid of anything I could do to him." Saren sighed and bit his talons. "In truth, I'm not sure I'm the best one for this job."

"Do you want me to assign him to someone else?"

"No. I can do this. I just need more time. Need to figure out how to get through to him." Saren paused. "You were wrong about him, Ianius."

"How so?"

"He's nothing like me."


	4. Autumn

"Eleven years."

"Yes, I _know_ , Ianius."

"Are you going to take Kryik with you?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Sparatus's voice was surprised. "I would've thought—"

Saren chewed on his talons. "I think it'll help him." He was starting to consider that perhaps Ianius didn't understand him as well as they both had thought. "Besides. I've done this alone for a decade. It will be good to have some company again."

"You know I—"

"No. You've done what you can, Ianius. I am not going to ask that of you ever again."

"Very well." Sparatus seemed put-out. "Three days, Saren. And there's something else."

Saren bit one of his talons so hard that it started to bleed. "What?"

"It's been almost a year, and from what you keep saying, you're struggling with training the boy. If you don't start seeing progress soon, I will have him reassigned."

Saren sat bolt upright. "Spirits Ianius, it took _me_ two years to complete my training. What's so different now?"

"Lenn knew what she was doing. She spent two years turning a skilled solider into a dangerous solo operative. That's what the Council needs, Saren. People who are the height of their game. And I can't keep pouring the resources into Kryik if he's going to progress this slowly. Tevos and Arall are already starting to question me for bringing about this whole mess in the first place."

Saren snarled. "Ianius, I—"

"Look, Saren." The Councilor sighed. "I know I'm the one who persuaded you into this. And if you feel like you can't do it, you just have to tell me. I won't blame you. Kryik will go somewhere where he can make a difference. Blackwatch, perhaps."

Saren laughed hollowly. "You know he wouldn't be able to get along in a team. Face it, Ianius. He belongs with the Spectres. He just needs to realize it for himself."

 

Nihlus was down in the cargo bay on the treadmill, eight miles into his usual morning run.

"We've got three days off." Saren's voice came from behind him. Nihlus didn't startle, just kept running.

"What's the occasion?" he asked. "Or did the Council decide that they've thrown enough bullshit our way for a while?"

"The signing of the Relay 314 treaty," Saren explained. "It's been eleven years to the day."

"They celebrate that on Palaven?" Nihlus asked. "Seems like kind of a weird thing—wasn't the Primarch annoyed that we hadn't done more to kick some human ass?" He shrugged. "Well? Got plans?"

"We're stopping on Palaven," Saren said. "I recommend you find some more suited clothing; it is the rainy season."

"Sure," Nihlus said, and returned his attention to his run.

 

It wasn't raining when they landed. The sky was flat, cloudy. Nihlus stepped out of the airlock and inhaled. Somehow he'd thought the air of Palaven would be different. But the air of the turian homeworld was pretty unremarkable. He shivered slightly. A cool breeze whipped through his fringe and then was gone.

The same breeze blew the ends of Saren's long headscarf free. Saren grabbed at the fabric and tucked it back under the collar of his tunic. "I have some errands to run," the Spectre said as he shut the airlock and started off down the docking platform. "You will accompany me."

"Ok," Nihlus said, and followed.

The city was bustling. Cipritine, the capital of Palaven. Tall angular builds of stone and glass. Long boulevards that hummed with activity. Skycars passing above their heads. The sensations were overwhelming. He stayed close to Saren's heels.

The first stop was at a bakery. The smells made Nihlus drool. The line was out the door. Obviously a local favorite. Saren parked himself in line and Nihlus squeezed in beside him.

They got looks. Nihlus pretended not to notice it, but they got looks. Taetran markings. A barefaced man with strange white plates, an absurdly long fringe, and strange clothing—well. The looks weren't good ones.

When they got to the counter, Saren tried to place his order. The employee, a young man with vivid geometric blue markings, interrupted him. "We don't serve terrorists," he said, gesturing to Nihlus.

"What?" Nihlus's mandibles dropped open. "Seriously? Fuck you too, buddy."

Saren's face was like ice. "Nihlus," he murmured, "wait for me outside."

Nihlus turned and stormed away. "Don't bother getting anything for me!" he yelled over his shoulder. "Pricks like him don't deserve my terrorist money!"

He leaned on a wall outside and sulked. People gave him a wide berth, staring at him, muttering to others. A man with two small kids ushered them away.

Finally, Saren came out, clutching a paper bag. "Fucking asshole," Nihlus grumbled.

Saren ignored that. "One more stop," he said, leading Nihlus down the street and away from that fucking bakery.

"This isn't a holiday, is it," Nihlus said as they walked. Everybody was out, doing normal stuff—there was no kind of festivities or celebrations that Nihlus had expected.

"No it is not," Saren said.

"Figured. So why is the signing of the treaty so important, if people don't celebrate it?"

"It's not." Nihlus couldn't figure out what Saren meant by this, and gave up asking, simply allowed himself to follow in the Spectre's wake.

The next shop was small, dusty, smelled of incense. No one was in there except one woman behind the counter, wearing a headscarf similar to Saren's. Nihlus muffled a sneeze.

"Saren," the woman said with a smile. "Welcome home. I assume you want the usual? And who's this?"

"Yes," Saren replied. "And this is my apprentice, Nihlus Kryik."

"Delighted." The woman offered her hand, and Nihlus shook it. She didn't seem fazed by his markings at all.

"Just one moment," she said, releasing Nihlus's hand, and turned to the shelves behind her. She selected a number of boxes, then turned back and wrapped them in paper, handing the parcel to Saren. He paid, then gestured to Nihlus.

"Thank you," he said to the woman, and they left the shop.

"What was all that stuff?" Nihlus asked, but Saren merely replied,

"Patience."

They wound through the streets of the city, buildings soaring overhead and the breeze chasing between them, but no rain fell. Soon the architecture began to change—metal to stone, to wood that was silver. Buildings, shorter. Streets—smooth stones underneath his feet.

Nihlus had never seen anything like it.

And then they were standing in front of a fenced-off ruin, and that was something Nihlus could understand. What was once a grand building lay hulking under the flat sky. It was like some of the abandoned sections of his home city where the watertable had risen.

There was a large stone monument standing in front of the fence. There were names, carved on it in neat, solemn rows.

Saren carefully set down the bakery bag at the foot of the monument, and unwrapped the other parcel. Incense sticks, and holders. He carefully lit one, and blew it out. Placed it alongside the bag, letting the smoke trail up into the sky.

The name carved at the top of the monument read "DESOLAS ARTERIUS."

Nihlus swallowed, uncomfortable. "Who was he to you?"

"My brother," Saren replied, his voice soft.

They stood there under the clouds for an eternity, Saren gazing up at the name. Nihlus glanced at him every so often, trying to decipher what he saw on the Spectre's face.

He didn't say anything. It didn't seem right.

And then Saren began to speak. "Our parents died in a shuttle crash when I was an infant. Desolas was thirteen, close to entering the service. He could have put me into state care. Instead, he deferred his service in order to raise me."

Nihlus stood, captivated, as Saren's story unfolded.

"As I said previously, my biotics manifested when I was five. I was taken into one of the Cabals, and Desolas was able to enter basic training. Even though he started late, he progressed quickly. He still made time for me, though. The Cabal was like a family to me. But Desolas would always come visit, spend time."

His words sounded rehearsed, Nihlus thought. Like he'd been planning out for a long time how to say all this.

"He was a colonel when I turned fifteen. I requested to be allowed to go into Hierarchy military service. I had great ambitions at the time. The request was granted. I became a lieutenant at the age of sixteen, and a year later, was assigned to Desolas's special ops squad. He was a general at that point. It was an honor to serve with him.

"When I was eighteen, during the Relay 314 Incident, we were assigned to retrieve a valuable artifact from a downed research vessel. A group of human mercenaries interfered, and it took longer to get the artifact to Palaven than we'd anticipated. On the day we arrived, the treaty was signed and the conflict was over. And Desolas…"

His voice wavered for the first time.

"…was not himself. He brought it here. Declared that Temple Palaven should be unbarred and that the artifact would connect us with the ancient spirits again, allow the turian people to rise to a new glory."

He paused.

"I should have seen it. Desolas never held delusions like that in his life. The artifact was affecting him in a terrible way. He spoke so convincingly though, that people listened and believed…I swallowed down my fears and went along with it.

"We'd taken the human mercenaries prisoner. They escaped, went rooting around the Temple's cellars. They found another artifact. Another thing with the power to destroy minds. I still don't understand how it got there or why, but it was too dangerous to ignore. My brother was marching on a path that would destroy the turian people."

"So what happened then?" Nihlus whispered.

"I radioed Central Command and declared a bioweapons emergency. They bombed the Temple. And I was awarded the Star of Palaven, and ordered to keep my mouth shut."

They stood in silence for a moment. "Fuck," Nihlus muttered.

"So, how'd you end up a Spectre?" he asked after a while.

"I resigned my commission immediately afterwards. Ianius had risen to power in the aftermath of the Relay 314 Incident, and we met. He befriended me, eventually put me on that path. I trained with a salarian biotic, and two years later, was inducted as a Spectre."

Nihlus quickly added up the numbers in his head. "You're…younger than I thought you were," he said after a moment.

Saren twitched a mandible. "Spectres rarely live to any great age."

They stood there a little longer. The paper bakery bag rustled in the wind. Nihlus gestured to it. "You know that's just gonna get ruined, or stolen."

"It is not the physical object that is important," Saren said, and that was that. Nihlus didn't say another word about it.

He had no idea how long they were going to stand there. Nihlus remembered when his own brother had died. He remember it with crystal clarity. But that was nothing compared to what Saren had been forced to do. Nihlus wasn't sure how anyone would begin to process that. Maybe standing and staring up at a name carved in stone for hours helped somehow.

So he reached out to Saren, placed a hand on the Spectre's arm. Saren didn't turn and look at him, but just flicked a mandible in acknowledgement. And after a moment, when it became awkward, Nihlus slid his hand down to brush Saren's, which gripped his fiercely.

Touching Saren wasn't as uncomfortable as he thought it would be, Nihlus realized. And when Saren let out a sigh and leaned his head on Nihlus's shoulder, Nihlus realized with that start that he'd grown taller than Saren at some point. He leaned his head against Saren's.

He had no idea how long they stood there. But time seemed to float away, and so did any impatience Nihlus had.

It became darker, and Saren seemed content to turn away from the monument. He didn't let go of Nihlus's hand.

"So," said Nihlus, determined to break the silence and find something a bit better to dwell on, "wanna find some food and get drunk?" He held his breath, certain that Saren held a low opinion of alcohol.

"Absolutely," Saren replied, and Nihlus exhaled.

The crowds had dissipated as evening came on. "Not Palaveni," Nihlus said as they made their way down the street. "You know I can't stand Palaveni. And the attitudes. Like that bakery."

"That was Desolas's favorite bakery," Saren said.

"Oh."

"However, I have never seen that employee before," Saren added, and Nihlus realized that he was trying to say that it was ok, in his own Saren-y way.

"There's a Taetran place a few blocks from here," Saren added after a moment. "I have never been there."

Nihlus snorted. "So they call us terrorists then eat our food. I—I mean—" He broke off, realizing that he was including Saren in that "they".

"I think you'll enjoy it," Saren said, and said nothing more until they arrived at the restaurant.

 

The restaurant was perfect. All the employees had the stark white markings, and the man at the door greeted them in a dialect which Nihlus slipped easily into, speaking with confidence and not just bravado. The décor was—different. Saren wasn't sure how to classify it. A little darker and smokier than Palaveni styles. However, despite the worn furniture and cramped tables, it was cozy.

Nihlus asked for a more private table, and the man led them to a little nook in the back. Nihlus immediately ordered a large bottle of booze with a strange name, and then ordered food as well—dishes Saren didn't recognize, Nihlus ordering for him, unconsciously asking Saren to trust his choices.

A few hours later, they were both thoroughly drunk.

From what Saren could remember through the fog in his brain, the food had been good. Unusual, but good. The conversation had gotten lively. Saren couldn't remember ever talking this much in his life. Nihlus's voice had gotten thick with an accent that he usually suppressed, making it difficult for Saren to follow what he was saying.

"So do you like, ever drink?" Nihlus slurred.

"Waste of time, waste of my money." Saren waved a hand about aimlessly.

"And man, I been wondering for _so_ long. Do you have a sex life at _all?_ "

"No," Saren muttered. "Haven't found myself interested in many people. Some people I've been close to, maybe. I'm not close to many people."

"That's what Tevos said," Nihlus said. "She said you were close to Sparatus. You and him?—wait, never mind, don't wanna know."

Saren couldn't remember what the question was.

Nihlus eyed his arm after a moment. "It doesn't hurt anymore, does it?" he said. "Your fake arm."

"It hasn't hurt in a long time," Saren replied.

Nihlus grinned, a huge and actual grin, not that stupid sarcastic grin he used when annoyed. "Good. I was worried for a while."

They staggered back to their hotel afterwards, and Saren didn't even bother to change his clothes, just falling into his bed. Nihlus flopped down next to him.

He tried to shove Nihlus away. "You have your own bed," he muttered. But Nihlus just grumbled and buried himself in the sheets.

Saren gave up after a few moments and ignored Nihlus.

He woke up a few hours later and promptly discovered that Nihlus was incredibly snuggly. He'd wrapped himself around Saren at some point in the night, and was purring softly in his sleep.

Saren carefully extracted himself from Nihlus's arms and headed to the bathroom. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He was going to have a wicked hangover in the morning; his eyes were already bloodshot.

He finished in the bathroom and went back to bed, where Nihlus promptly curled around him again.

He could hear rain falling outside.

 

He woke with a raging hangover.

Nihlus didn't look any better off. He'd propped himself up in Saren's bed, and had his head in between his knees. Saren groaned as he sat up.

Nihlus looked up. "Great night, huh," he mumbled.

"Yes," Saren said, odd lights in the corners of his vision.

They sat there for a while. "Don't wanna move," Nihlus said.

"No," Saren replied.

A bit later, they hadn't moved. "What do you usually do with your three days off?" Nihlus suddenly asked.

It was a struggle to remember. The first time—he didn't want to think about that, the wounds from Temple Palaven and Desolas's death still open and raw. Ianius.

The other years—

"Spend a day at the memorial. Restock. Eat some real Palaveni food."

"It's raining," Nihlus said.

"I know."

"I don't want to go out."

"Neither do I."

"Wanna watch movies or something stupid like that?"

The hotel room had a vidscreen. "Yes," Saren said, and Nihlus quickly found a movie, turned the volume down, and plopped back against the pillows.

At some point, Saren feel asleep again. Strange, but being curled up in a warm bed next to his troublesome apprentice, the vidscreen on softly, and the sound of the rain outside—never on his yearly pilgrimage to the memorial had he felt so peaceful.

 

They wiled the day with movies and room service. The rain was still falling the next morning, but not as heavily, and Saren dragged Nihlus out so that they could run some errands.

Soon enough, they'd be back out in space. Back to chasing things down on the Council's orders. And that was usually fine with Saren. But today, something was niggling at him, and Nihlus was happily oblivious  to it.

Eventually, Saren decided that he had to speak up. It probably wasn't the best time or place, but it had to be done. "I have something I have to tell you, Nihlus."

"What?" Nihlus turned to peer into a shop window, rainwater dripping from the ends of his fringe.

"The Councilor has given me an ultimatum. If I don't start reporting more progress with your training, you will be reassigned. And it won't be to another Spectre."

Nihlus turned to him, his eyes wide, and his mandibles went slack. "I—"

"I'm trying my best to fight it. I believe you can do it, Nihlus. It took me two years to complete my training. You've shown immense growth since you came. And I think that in another year or two you will be ready. But I have to convince Sparatus of that."

"Saren—"

"I want you to know this. And I also want you to know that I have full faith in you."

Nihlus's head drooped. "Thank you," he muttered. And then he looked up. "I know I'm a dick sometimes," he said, "but I really do want to be here."

"I know," Saren replied.

"I've never felt like I was wanted before," Nihlus whispered. His mandibles snapped back to his jaw and he glared. "I'll do it. I don't care what it takes. I'll prove the Councilor wrong."

"He could stand to be proven wrong every once in a while," Saren said, and Nihlus smiled weakly.

 

"Fair is fair." Saren crossed his arms. "Give me another year. I took two years, and I will have Nihlus ready in two years."

Sparatus sighed. "Why should I give you the benefit of the doubt?"

"Have you ever known me to go back on my word?"

"A few times." Saren could hear the smile in Ianius's voice, and he hated it in this moment. Hated Ianius, hated the whole damn Council.

Fuck this. He wasn't going to put up with this anymore.

"Listen to me, Ianius. You gave Nihlus to me, and told me that you could think of no one better suited to train him."

"And maybe I was wrong."

"I'm not finished!" Saren snarled. "Did you even bother to read his file before you handed him to me? He and I are nothing alike. And that's fine. We just needed to get through to each other. And it took a spirits-damn _year_ but we're there. I can trust him to do what he needs to do, and he can trust me to do what's best for him."

"Saren—"

"I don't need any favors from you, Ianius. All I need is a fair chance."

There was a very long pause. Saren chewed on his talons, and noticed that his hands were shaking. He wasn't sure whether it was from anger or fear.

Sparatus finally sighed. "One year, Saren. If he's not ready when you take your time off next year, he will be reassigned. And _you'll_ be paying me back for the money and time wasted."

Saren exhaled and lowered his hand, relief coursing through him. "Call me when an assignment comes up," he said, and cut the call.

He stood from his chair and left the office. Nihlus was sitting in the kitchen, cleaning weapons. Gun components were scattered everywhere. Saren had to pick his steps carefully to avoid trodding on something sharp or expensive.

Nihlus looked up. "Well?"

"Another year," Saren said, and the weight on Nihlus's shoulders lifted, leaving him looking taller. He stood and made his way over to Saren. Saren expected a verbal thanks, or a handshake, certainly not Nihlus's arms thrown around him, drawing him into a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said into Saren's neck. Saren's hands flailed, unsure where to go. He eventually settled for patting Nihlus awkwardly on the back.

"I'll do it," Nihlus whispered. "I can do it."

"I know you can," Saren replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to thank everyone who has read, kudos'd, and commented! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.


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